


Not The Only One

by poisontaster



Series: Heart 'Verse [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fighting, Injury, M/M, Making Up, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-05
Updated: 2006-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-13 21:20:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5717512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>...They finally have it out in a rest stop in Tennessee, an actual fistfight, slip-sliding in the mud and missing just as often as they connect. They end up flat on their backs, covered in it and laughing and Dean says gruffly, "Well. I guess you're back to normal then." And then they both are.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not The Only One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slytherinblack](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=slytherinblack).



> Set in the 3rd year of Heart 'Verse.

When it's over, Sam's got a black eye, Dean's got a bloody nose and he thinks he might have cracked a rib when Sam fell on him, the giant fucker. His shirt—his fucking _Master of Puppets shirt_ —is torn and he's got nasty, viscous glop in places he doesn't even want to think about. At all.

He lies in the mud and stares up into the still thundery Tennessee sky, panting. A couple feet away, Sam does the same.

"Well," he says finally, grudgingly, probing the sore flesh of his nose and surrounding skin. "I guess you're back to normal, then."

Several beats of silence and then Sam lets out a hiccup of a laugh.

It's such a weird, goofy sound that it sets Dean off and he sort of chuckles.

Which must tickle both their funny bones or something because a couple seconds later, they're both doubled up with it, slapping the ground and damn near choking on how hard they're laughing. It hurts—man, especially in that rib, though now he thinks maybe it's just bruised—but it feels good too. Dean laughs all the harder because it's Sammy, _his_ Sammy, lying there next to him laughing so hard he could cry and not too long ago, Dean thought he'd never have _a_ Sammy, let alone his.

Sam's shirt's ridden up, from the fight or the rolling around and giggling like schoolgirls, Dean doesn't know, but when he heaves over on his side, he can see the scar through the spattering of mud and stippling of cold. It's not big or long, but he knows how deep it goes, how close he came to losing Sam for good and not just to a school. Forever.

He reaches out and traces the crooked line of it, slightly raised, slightly warmer than the rest of Sam's skin.

Sam's just looking at him, not laughing any more and Dean tries to jerk his hand back, embarrassed to be caught like this. Sam's fingers dart up and grab Dean's hand, flatten it over his wound again. Calmly, he says, "I'm not going nowhere, Dean."

Dean flinches, but at the same time, heat kindles in his chest. There's too much in him to give it a name or a feeling. "Sam—"

"No." Sam pushes Dean's hand deeper into him until Dean sees the vein jump in Sam's jaw and he knows it's hurting him. Stubborn bastard won't let go, though. "You listen to me. I didn't make you quit, last year, when this was you. So shut up and let me do what I'm going to do."

And they've been fighting about this for _months_ , right? Dean's tired of protesting too much, especially when every road he's trying to push Sam down leads right the fuck away from him. It's selfish and it's cowardly but he doesn't want that. He doesn't want that at all. And he's tried anyway, because it's the right thing to do, but Sam (stubborn ass) won't let him win.

"Dean?" Sam asks and he sounds less certain than just a second ago. Dean realizes he's been quiet a while, just staring at that place where his and Sam's hands are joined on his belly, hiding the scar underneath.

"Yeah," he says roughly, finally. "Christ. Do whatever the fuck you want."

But it feels like relief. It feels like reprieve.

Especially when Sam grins, wide and sexy as all fuck, and reaches to tug Dean into him. "This is the deal, Dean," Sam says, pushing the ripped pieces of Dean's shirt aside to put his palm flat over Dean's scar. Dean starts to roll his eyes, but Sam digs his fingers into still sensitive scar tissue. "Don't fuck around, Dean. This is the deal we made. You and me."

Dean squirms and grumbles without really saying much of anything.

"Besides," Sam continues, "you know I always get myself into trouble when we split up."

"Well, that's for damn sure," Dean agrees fervently.

"So this is it, Dean. I mean it. I don't want to hear any more bullshit about me leaving."

"It's not bull…" Dean starts. Faster than he thought Sam could move, Sam shoves Dean over onto his back and straddles him, pressing Dean's shoulders hard into the ground. The look on his face is the one Dean knows better than to fuck with and he swallows hard and says. "Dude. What? I said do whatever you want."

Sam bends down so his face is nearly touching Dean's. "And if I said what I really want is to fuck that fine ass until you can't remember your own name, let alone mine?"

Dean squirms again, for different reasons. "I'd say get my ass somewhere warmer than rest stop Tennessee mud, you fucking horndog, and you're on."


End file.
